


somewhere my lifeline still hums and sings

by lachesisgrimm (olga_theodora)



Series: love is a word so small [3]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Grief/Mourning, Healing, Widowed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-14
Updated: 2017-01-14
Packaged: 2018-09-17 08:58:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9314555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/olga_theodora/pseuds/lachesisgrimm
Summary: After loss, grief is inevitable.And, eventually, healing.A prequel toeyes meeting over the noise.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The title and the lyric snippet at the beginning of this piece are from Vienna Teng's "Goodnight New York" (which is a very Phil song).

_I’ll see you all on the other side  
After I am a different man with different eyes._

After the funeral- after the guests, after the stories, when the children were in bed and it was just him and her- Sarah placed a bottle of whiskey and two glasses on the table. “Slanté,” she said grimly, pouring generous portions into both glasses and knocking the contents of one back. He did the same, and poured the second round himself. Hangovers were no longer anything that worried him, at least not while his wife was freshly buried under six feet of soft dirt. 

“Who came up with the word ‘widower’?” he mused, already made distant by grief and the two or three fingers of brandy he had downed an hour or so beforehand. “Weird word.”

Sarah snorted, a tear dripping down her cheek. “Here’s the deal, Phil.”

“Made plenty of deals recently, Sar,” he interjected bitterly, thinking not only of the funeral contract but also the unspoken promises he had offered any deity that might have been listening. Never run a yellow light again, never curse again… but Audrey was dead, so he might as well rack up traffic violations and curse until the air turned blue. 

“The deal,” she continued firmly, stubbornly, “is that you are still my brother. And you will still show up for a reasonable number of family events, or I will track you down and kidnap you.”

“Crime sound like a great family activity.” He sipped his second round. “Bring the kids. Educational.”

“More like a good warning.” She reached out and placed a hand over his free one- the hand that still wore a wedding ring. “I love the hell out of you, Phil. So do the kids, and so does Matt, and my parents, and pretty much everyone I can think of. Don’t disappear.”

He considered his half-empty glass; thought how easy it would be to just disappear into the bottle and lose a few months or years. 

Then he thought of how Audrey would have responded to that idea, and sighed wearily. “I won’t,” he promised Sarah, who he loved like an actual sister. “I won’t.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” She added another finger to his glass. “Tonight we drink,” she told him. “Tomorrow we curse our stupid-ass selves and grieve. Eventually we’ll move on.”

He picked up his glass and held it up in a mocking toast. “As you say.”

“Damn straight.”

\---

The ordinary days were the worst, at least at first. Every little thing reminded him of her, from the brand of pasta in the kitchen cabinets to the way the light slanted across the living room late in the afternoon. He spent weeks varying between absently making dinner for two and making sloppy peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. The former stung, and the latter felt like a betrayal- Audrey had been allergic to peanuts. Everything tasted like ashes in his mouth, regardless.

For months he simply _existed_ , going from home to work to home in a kind of haze, averting his eyes from the side of the closet that was still filled with Audrey’s clothes. He pushed the medical equipment into one corner and draped a sheet over the pile, consigning it to dust. He semi-regularly avoided Sarah’s phone calls. 

Finally- after far too long- he realized that he needed to sell the apartment. Living in a space where he occasionally, mysteriously still caught whiffs of his dead wife’s perfume was driving him crazy.

Sarah simply nodded when he informed her, not looking surprised. “Where to?” she asked, pushing bites of her salmon around her plate. “Maine? Upstate?”

“Boston.” He had fond memories of Boston- memories that weren’t necessarily connected to Audrey, which was a plus. “SHIELD needs someone to run that branch.”

“Well, you’ll definitely be good at it.” Sarah abandoned her fork in favor of her wine glass. “Bobbi lives there, doesn’t she?”

“She does.” Another plus, in Phil’s book. “And a few other friends.”

“Good. They’ll keep you in line,” she said, a faint smile playing across her face.

“I’ll need your help sorting through Aud’s things,” he said after a long moment, the words practically torn from him. “I don’t think that carrying everything along with me is the best plan.”

“You’re right about that. Figure out what you want to keep, and then we’ll distribute everything else to her friends and the rest of the family.”

“I’ll sell the apartment, unless you can think of someone who wants to rent it.” He felt a twinge at that. A clean break would be better, easier, but Audrey had loved that apartment so much that he almost felt he should keep it.

“No, Phil. Put it on the market.” She patted his hand, understanding on her face as she gazed around the dining room Audrey had decorated. “That’s a burden you don’t need.”

“She loved that view,” he said wistfully, his body half-turning toward the archway that led to the living room, where a wall of windows dominated the space. 

“She loved having that view with you,” Sarah corrected. “She loved making it into a home for the both of you. She wouldn’t want you to pay that exorbitant tax bill for a property that just makes you sad.”

“True enough.”

They were quiet as they carried the plates into the small kitchen, still quiet as they resettled on the couch with their wine. 

“The cello,” Phil made himself say, feeling the instrument almost like a living presence behind him. “You should take the cello.” He drained the last half-inch of wine in his glass. “Diana loves to play. She should have her aunt’s cello.”

Sarah laughed. “It’s too big for her.”

“She’ll grow into it.”

“It’s insured, isn’t it? God, it was Aud’s baby.” She blinked in stricken realization, but he spoke before she could apologize. 

“And Audrey would have loved the idea of Diana having it. You know she used to let her play it, even when she could only scrape out ‘Twinkle, Twinkle’.”

“My Dia, lugging around a priceless instrument.” Sarah’s smile was real, if sad. “Royalty in the school band room.”

“I doubt the cello will care.”

Sarah took the cello home that night.

Its absence hurt. 

\---

In less time than he had expected, the apartment was stripped to bare bones. No furniture, no art: just walls, windows, and the hardwood floors that Audrey had loved so much. Some things had gone to family, others to friends, and a small portion to charity shops.

Her wedding dress had gone to Audrey’s mother. Phil had resisted the impulse to even unzip the garment bag to view it one last time. If he did, he worried that he might never let it out of his sight, like some kind of reverse Miss Havisham. 

He made one last circuit through the rooms, trailing his hand over the walls as he remembered both the little and big things: the scuff from when they moved in the antique sideboard, the water stain from when he had accidentally overfilled the holder for their first Christmas tree, the counter that had held the ever-increasing number of medications during Audrey’s last months of life. Not medications that would have healed, but ones that helped ease. Ease the pain, the nausea, the depression.

Finally, he stood at the entry- the same entry he had carried her across as a bride- and said farewell to the place he had made his home for the past decade.The late afternoon sunlight that spilled across the floor tempted him to stay, but he turned away from it, and locked the door for the last time.

\---

In Boston, he could breathe again. In Boston he could _sleep_ again, which felt like a minor miracle. He cracked a smile for the first time in months, and it was solely because Bobbi got him drunk and made him watch _Spaceballs._ He began to wonder if maybe, maybe he would be one day be happy.

The thought came just in time. Christmas was mere weeks away- the first Christmas, which seemed significant- and Sarah had been dropping very heavy hints about his required presence at the family festivities. And so, Phil spent several emotional sessions with his new therapist, mentally preparing himself. 

And strangely… Christmas wasn’t terrible. Phil realized that it should have been, and it was certainly awkward, but the strange solemnity to the occasion didn’t rub him the wrong way. He was so focused on being an excellent uncle and an all-around pleasant guest that he barely had time to consider what Christmas would have been like otherwise.

It was Easter that nearly destroyed him. He hadn’t expected it to- Easter had never been a major holiday for him, nor one that he and Audrey had particularly celebrated- and so he had accepted Sarah’s invitation with little thought.

Easter was a surprisingly family-oriented holiday in Sarah’s family, he found. Her parents were there- lovely people who still regarded him as a son- and her siblings were there. Children of all ages were underfoot. There were the requisite chocolate bunnies and jellybeans. The family was lighter, smiles came easily, laughter was fast and often, and all he could think was of Audrey.

And resurrection, which was appropriate, considering the day, but also seemed a sudden and cruel impossibility.

So he had slipped upstairs and sat in his room, crying quietly until the tears were gone. Some cold water on his face and no one would have known- except for Sarah, who quietly handed him a piece of cake and a mug of tea shortly after he reappeared. It helped more than he would have expected. 

\---

After a while, normal days were once again normal, and the holidays became endurable- even occasionally enjoyable. He did have a brief turn during Thanksgiving number three when he realized that he had walked past a picture of Audrey without realizing, but otherwise the holidays were good. Non-eventful. He was just Uncle Phil, who more often than not brought his nieces and nephews extravagant gifts. 

It took him several years before he realized that being around so many loving couples at Christmas and Thanksgiving made him lonely. More than that, it made him lonely for _someone_ , and not just for Audrey. He was a romantic; he always had been. He liked having a hand to hold and someone to kiss on a holiday eve.

So he went on a few dates, with Sarah’s encouragement. And they were fine. 

Not great, but fine.

\---

At the time, it was just a regular day, and he didn’t ascribe any importance to it. In the midst of interviewing for new employees, a young British woman had walked into his office with an entirely too impressive resume. She was witty, and plucky, and- he noticed, taking in her cleverly darned cashmere sweater- a tad desperate. 

But she passed the drug test and background check, and she was excellent with children. After a while, he realized that she was exactly what she appeared to be: sweet, brilliant, and somehow rather sad.

He picked up little bits of her past here and there, mainly from Bobbi and Skye. Well-educated- which was obvious- loving, and as far as he could tell, possessed of parents who didn’t deserve her. 

Jemma was a mystery, in a sense, but a pleasant one. And if she wanted to spend her time throwing parties for toddlers instead of raking in cash working for Stark Industries, who was he to stop her? He knew as well as anyone how downshifting one’s career sometimes carried its own rewards. 

She intrigued him, so he kept an eye on her. No more than he did Bobbi and Skye, of course. But he kept a friendly eye on her, nonetheless- and one day, he noticed something. Or suspected something, really.

She had a crush on him. 

Maybe?

Which was flattering, of course. Really flattering, if it was true, but he was rather old for her, and he had a firm policy about not dating his subordinates. 

Not even the ones who reminded him all too well of Peggy Carter, his boyhood crush.

He decided to keep his distance, after that, but found it wasn’t quite so easy. He had always had a thing for brilliant women, after all, and Jemma definitely was that. And it was so very easy to talk with her. 

And… well, it didn’t seem like she needed rescuing, really, but he felt as if she needed someone to care for her. She would disagree, and rightly so, but from childhood he had always been the type of person to carry home lost kittens or wounded birds. 

The comparison wasn’t flattering to her, and he knew it. 

It didn’t stop him from bringing her the occasional cup of tea or asking her opinion on the works of Lin-Manuel Miranda. 

But the time he helped her down from the ladder, and smelled her perfume- or the time he had pulled a clump of icing from her surprisingly soft hair- each time he was forced to admit that he hadn’t been so attracted to a woman in years. He tried to convince himself that it was some kind of white knight syndrome; that it would eventually fade after a few months. But the feelings persisted, and grew, and one day he woke up, feeling utterly certain on two points.

One: he wanted Jemma Simmons.

And two: that he had no idea what to do about it.

And secretly, he was a little bit terrified.

\---

“Excuse me?”

Phil could distantly hear the cello in the background, and he smiled- smiled happily, with no twinge of regret. “Dia sounds good. That is her, right?”

“On the instrument that costs more than our house, yes,” Sarah answered, amused. “Don’t try to distract me. Say it again.”

“I’m staying in Boston for Christmas this year.”

“That’s exactly what I thought you said. Why, exactly?”

“I have a hunch.”

She was silent on the other end of the line, but he could almost hear her trying to figure out what that meant. That he was having a secret love affair? That he was feeling maudlin? Again?

“This is- what? The fifth holiday in a row that you’ve ditched us?” she asked, rhetorically. “Not that you signed a blood oath, or anything, but…”

“But I was being moody,” he admitted. “I know, Sarah. It was-”

He paused, trying to find the words. “It wasn’t you, or the family, or even Audrey. I just… one year, I realized that it was hard being there alone. Not because Audrey wasn’t there, but because I was surrounded by all of these great, loving couples, and I was alone.”

She sniffed audibly. “Oh shit,” she muttered, and he was horrified to realize that he had made her cry. “I have single friends, you know. Good ones. And I can vouch for your character.”

“I don’t need you to set me up,” he replied, feeling a rush of affection for his sister-in-law. “I’m fine alone. I’ve tried dating; it’s terrible.”

“Well, yeah.” She laughed, the sound a bit broken. “No arguments here, though it is a waste. Practically everything you wear is husband material.”

“Cute.”

“I’m actually serious.”

“It’s better now,” he promised her. “I was planning to come, but I might have a stray duckling to care for.”

“Knowing you, that might be literal,” she said with a chuckle. “Your hunch?”

“Yes. A young woman I work with-”

“Ahh,” she said sagely.

“Young, Sarah,” he said, though it was more a reminder to himself.

“What, like in college?”

“Past that, but I doubt she’s hit thirty.”

“Continue.”

“I don’t think she has anywhere to go this year.”

He wasn’t sure she had gone anywhere for Thanksgiving, either. It bothered him. For some reason the idea of leaving her alone for Christmas bothered him even more. 

“Okay, then. Take care of your duckling.” She chuckled again. “You can bring her next Christmas.”

He rolled his eyes, but had to admit that the idea gave him a strange little thrill. “Sure, Sarah.”

“Remember that we love you,” she said seriously. “And don’t forget to wear a condom.”

“Sarah-”

Too late. She had hung up, and had likely smirked while doing so.

He rubbed a hand against his forehead as he watched the fire burn in the fireplace, absently petting Sif as she dozed beside him. He had a comfortable, quiet home. He was happy.

Fine, happyish.

His phone vibrated, and he lifted it to read a text from Sarah. _We really do love you,_ it read, and he smiled, something inside him easing.

“You’ll be nice to my duckling, won’t you?” he asked Sif.

She twisted, offering her belly for petting.

He would take that as a yes.


End file.
